


The Trouble With Trilbies

by obstinatrix



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, M/M, Old mutants in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 21:07:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2666405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obstinatrix/pseuds/obstinatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite his egregious taste in supervillain costumes, Erik's always cut a fine figure in a suit. Naturally, this is the only reason their "business meetings" tend to end in the bedroom. It has nothing at all to do with the fact that Charles and Erik have been in love for over twenty years, and that doesn't look like changing any time soon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trouble With Trilbies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Unforgotten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforgotten/gifts).



> Dear Unforgotten, I must apologise for not having used any of your actual prompts. I got distracted by your Dear Secret Mutant letters, which were full of so many lovely things I ended up writing something different. Hopefully you will be happy with middle-aged dudes in love, paralysed Charles, and lots and lots of smut and feelings.

It was always that damnable hat that did it, Charles thought, thumbing the stem of the wine glass in his hand. He'd set out with the best of intentions, always, noting down his meetings with Erik as 'discussions' and 'summits' in his diary, arranging them pointedly in public places. He met with Erik to discuss, to take stock of where their movement was headed. 

And then Erik would appear by the table, the broad-shouldered slender silhouette of him so familiar that it ached, peeling his leather gloves from his beautiful hands with an elegance Charles had always envied. Everything about Erik was elegant, from the fine bones of his face to the new silver hair at his temples, but it was the hat that gave him the air of an actor from the Golden Age, the hat that made Charles want to curl his arms around Erik's neck, pull him close. 

Except that this was a business meeting only (obviously), and Erik was an associate (really!), and -- 

"Charles." Erik's voice cut through his thoughts like a knife. When Charles looked up, Erik was smirking. 

"You're about to spill what's left in that glass all over this nice clean tablecloth, Charles, so I think it would be to the benefit of all concerned if you'd stop daydreaming." 

Erik's mouth was soft with amusement and slightly dark from the wine. Charles cleared his throat and tried not to imagine the taste of it. "Quite. Of course. I was a little distracted for a moment." 

The smirk turned predatory, and Charles felt heat curl in his stomach beneath a sense of rising doom. "Of course you were," Erik said. His voice was level, but on his left wrist, Charles felt his watch began to vibrate, its metal case warming against his skin. 

It was easier, Charles supposed, to blame the bloody hat instead of admitting that it was his own pathetic weakness that led them here, every bloody time: to Erik walking Charles to his car and the two of them hesitating, the tangle of their many tensions thick between them. Erik's shields, usually so palpable, falling with a suddenness that made Charles gasp against the wash of _pleasejustalittlepleasestaydon'tmakemesayitCharlesplease_ \-- 

Charles pressed his lips together and said, his voice carefully modulated, "Actually, there is something else I wanted to discuss with you, but I'm not sure a coffee shop full of humans is the appropriate place. Are you staying in town?" 

"Certainly," Erik said, with a slight incline of his head. His posture radiated a casual certainty, but the flicker of his mind against Charles's was awash with relief and gratitude and something else that made Charles's chest hurt sweetly. Perhaps, after all, it wasn't entirely the fault of the hat. 

"Is it far?" Charles's voice was polite, almost more professional now that they'd both acknowledged the act for what it was. There was indeed another matter Charles wanted to discuss; something they'd discussed long and hard and rousingly for more than twenty years now. Sometimes, in his weaker moments, Charles wished they could discuss it every night, safe in his bed in Westchester, but that...that would have been another life entirely, another Erik. Maybe one day, Erik would be ready for that, when he felt his work was done.

Difficult though things were, Charles very much wanted the Erik he had now. 

"It's walking distance," Erik said, and then paused, something like a flush creeping across his cheekbones. Charles saw his eyes flicker to the wheelchair, and then dart away. "I mean --" 

"I know what you meant," Charles assured him quickly. He'd long since overcome any touchiness he might once have felt about the chair. Besides, long years of propelling himself around in it had given him some rather impressive shoulders, if he did say so himself. "Let's go." 

Erik knew him well enough not to make the gallant gesture of offering to push him. Charles would only have refused, easy though it would have been for Erik to propel the chair subtly with his powers, without any recourse to his physical strength at all. Charles's heart was thrumming fast in his throat, and all around him, the town was a muted buzz of voices, filtering even through the shields Charles always threw up in urban areas. Over and above them all, though, he could feel Erik, the shape of his mind familiar like the shape of one's own teeth under the tongue. All these years, and they still locked together like enzymes. 

Erik's mind was as intoxicating now as it had been that first night in the water; all the more so for having been kept out of Charles's reach for months, and he barely noticed when they reached the hotel, Erik summoning the elevator down with more than a little help from his magnetokinesis. Erik was many things, but he was not a patient man. 

On any other occasion, Charles might have injected some quip about Erik's tendency to want things done as quickly as physically possible, but he hadn't the wherewithal just now. When the doors opened, he simply followed Erik mutely into the elevator, and wondered idly how much of its vibration was due to the mechanism, and how much to Erik's magnetic presence making it sing. Above him, Erik was biting his lip, looking away, but Charles could see the slow flush rising across his shockingly perfect cheekbones, the tension in his posture. Erik wanted this, longed for these purportedly secret assignations as much as Charles did. In his heart, Charles never doubted it, but it was always nice to see, to be utterly assured, that Erik felt the same way. Erik, after all, was still a handsome man, cut a powerful figure with his salt-and-pepper hair and his arresting sea-blue eyes; he could have had anyone. And yet, when it came down to it, he was still decidedly hung up on a paraplegic geneticist in his late forties whose polite disagreement with Erik's views meant that their sex life tended to be sporadic at best. 

Charles would be lying if he said the thought wasn't as gratifying as it was ridiculous. 

When they reached the room, Erik unlatched the door effortlessly with his powers, and this time, Charles did let him propel the chair inside. It only took a nudge, a warm wash of permission over Erik's mind, and Erik knew him well enough to read it for what it was, what Charles intended. 

_Submission_ , said a traitorous voice at the back of Charles's mind, and Charles shook his head slightly. Never that, never quite. He might submit to many things -- to his love for Erik, to its permanence, whatever the wisdom of it -- but not to Erik himself. Not entirely. 

"Penny for your thoughts," Erik said softly. His mouth quirked up at the corner, and Charles smiled at the sight of it. 

"They aren't worth as much," he protested, and held up his arms. "Bed, if you please, sire." 

"Aren't you forward today?" Erik commented dryly, but he moved all the same, slipping a strong arm beneath Charles's knees and lifting him easily. It might have been embarrassing, how simple it was for Erik to carry him, if it weren't for the rush of heat that pooled in Charles's belly as Erik carted him so effortlessly across the room, deposited him on the bed. Erik had always been bigger than him, physically stronger. Charles would only be lying to himself if he denied that this was part of the attraction. 

"You like it," Charles murmured, quietly confident, as he settled himself on the smooth clean sheets, carefully arranged his legs. Erik waited for him patiently, long years of practice at this making him tolerant of the time it took Charles to rearrange his lower body manually. If anything, Erik seemed to take almost a wistful pleasure in watching it, the efficient way Charles positioned himself, the way the muscles bunched and pulled in his arms and chest under the shirt. At least, Charles often thought, if the bullet had done nothing else for him, it had given him better upper-body definition than he'd ever dreamed of. 

When, at last, he was settled, he held out his arms, and Erik surged into them willingly, throwing a leg over Charles's, cupping his face. When they were comfortably entangled -- Erik taking the care to tug off Charles's shoes after he'd shucked his own -- Erik pushed a lock of Charles's hair back behind his ear and said earnestly, "I've missed you." 

The sincerity of it pulsed in Charles's chest, radiating from Erik's mind, his heart, and Charles reached up on impulse to clutch at Erik's hand. "Oh, my dear," he sighed, a slave as ever to those eyes. "Kiss me." 

After all these years, Erik's mouth was as familiar to him as his own, but Charles still took his time relearning it, the ridges of Erik's soft palate, the precise shapes of his teeth. When they were young men still, in the dark days of the Seventies, their encounters had been rushed, their kisses brutal, all clashes of teeth and tongue to match the anger still banked in Charles's chest. Now, the destructive brushfire of their youth had quietened to a low-burning flame, a warm glow to explore each other by. Erik kissed slowly, but with the same determination he applied to everything he did, and when they came apart for air they were both panting, arousal spreading through Charles's body in little ripples. 

_Too many clothes_. Charles wasn't sure, as the thought drifted through his mind, whether it was his own or Erik's but he agreed with it wholeheartedly either way. Tracing his fingers along the still-sharp line of Erik's jaw, Charles looked up at him under his lashes and smiled. "Undress for me, darling, would you?" 

Erik laughed. "Did you want a show, or what? Because I'd hate to disappoint you, but I don't know whether my knees are up to it." 

Charles smirked and leaned back on the pillows, propping one hand behind his head. "Please, Erik, let me look at you. It isn't as if I'm granted the opportunity very often." 

Erik made a show of rolling his eyes as he unfolded himself from the bed, but Charles knew him better than that; knew the prickling heat in his mind well enough to feel how much Erik liked the idea. Sure enough, the front of Erik's perfectly tailored trousers was tented obscenely when he found his feet, and Charles bit his lip, eyes meeting Erik's. 

"Go on." 

Erik was always methodical when Charles asked for this, but he never rushed. There was something intoxicating about the way their gaze held as Erik divested himself of his garments item by item: overcoat, suit jacket. Waistcoat. The tie, he made a show of pulling out from under his collar with a smooth sweep of his hand. Shirt, then, and as the elegant hands moved to the buttons, Charles felt his mouth go dry. 

Erik may no longer have been as whipcord-thin as he had been when they met, but he was still glorious, firm muscle in his chest and arms tapering to the sinfully narrow waist Charles always yearned to touch. When the shirt fell away, Charles made an involuntary sound, half-reaching for him. Erik smiled, pupils wide enough almost to swallow the blue entirely as he unbuttoned his trousers, drew the zipper down with deliberate slowness. 

"Tease," Charles said, a little hoarsely. Erik quirked an eyebrow. 

"Is it teasing, if I fully intend to make good on my promise?" 

The trousers dropped to the floor, and Charles almost groaned. He was always astounded all over again by the sheer size of Erik's dick, the fat weight of it straining against the fabric of his boxers, the swell of his balls. Saliva pooled under his tongue, and he held out his arms as Erik's thumbs hooked under the waistband. "Stop. Come here." 

The eyebrow again, but Erik, for once, said nothing, just stepped out of the trousers and walked over, tall and bare and gorgeous, to straddle Charles's hips. This close, Charles could smell his arousal, feel the heat of his skin, and he couldn't resist leaning in to press a soft kiss to Erik's abdomen. "My God, Erik," he murmured. 

Erik was quiet, but Charles could see the sheen of sweat springing up all over him, could see his chest begin to move more quickly with his breaths as Charles peeled the boxers down carefully over the juts of his hipbones, the curve of his cock. Unthinking, Charles nuzzled at it, caught the crown between his lips as he drew the underwear down Erik's thighs, and Erik cried out, clutching at the headboard for support. 

"Charles," he said, his voice thick with want and a little surprise. Charles looked up at him, trailed his tongue over the tip of Erik's cock, caught the base in his hand and dipped his head to nuzzle at the shaft almost sideways-on. Erik groaned, closing his eyes, and there was something thrilling about having him like this, naked when Charles was still entirely clothed, but still -- no. Charles's skin ached for contact, for as long as he could get it. 

He released his hold on Erik, hands going to his own tie. Understanding immediately, Erik moved to help him, many hands, as Charles was fond of saying, making lighter work of anything. 

Once upon a time, after Washington, Charles had hated this, being naked in front of Erik, with his useless legs and his sporadically functional cock and his deep well of self-pity. Now, though, he had no such qualms. He had only to skim the surface of Erik's mind to feel the depth of his love for Charles, exactly as he was; and more than that, to feel the pure lust in him as he ran his hands over Charles's body, mapping the muscle of his chest and stomach, hands encircling his biceps wonderingly. They'd made love this way now far more often than they'd ever managed before Charles's injury, and Erik knew exactly how to touch him, how to make Charles come apart with scratches and light touches and slow, sucking kisses, instead of focusing fruitlessly on Charles's largely not-very-responsive dick. 

When Erik resettled himself on Charles's bare hips, the heat of his skin was enough to make Charles bite his lip, enjoying Erik's weight on him, pressing him down. Erik smiled, set the tips of his fingers against Charles's hipbones, and _yes yes_ Erik knew all Charles's sensitive places, knew how it made Charles's breath hitch when Erik drew his fingers up Charles's sides like this, slight drag of fingernails up to Charles's underarms. Charles let his head fall back slightly as Erik's explorations shifted to the pale insides of Charles's arms, pushing them gently up over his head. 

"Erik," Charles breathed, or perhaps he only thought it. Either way, Erik sent back a warm pulse of reassurance before he ducked his head, nuzzled at the juncture of Charles's arm and torso. 

" _Oh --_ " Charles's wrists jerked in Erik's grasp, the sensation of Erik's hot cheek, his stubble, against that fine skin sending want tumbling through him. But Erik's grip held firm, and he parted his lips a little, mouthing at the inside of Charles's bicep. Against his stomach, Charles felt the slick head of Erik's cock, dragging against his skin as Erik moved, the hot silk of it a secondary tease. 

Before his injury, he'd always been sensitive, but Charles would never have expected it could feel like this: Erik holding him down, kissing a slow trail from Charles's bicep to his wrist, pausing at the elbow to tongue and bite at the crease until Charles was gasping beneath him. If Charles turned his head just so, he could just about reach Erik; he rubbed his ear absently against Erik's hair as Erik's mouth traced the veins at his elbow, shifted upward. 

"Mmm." Erik was always slow, patient; at this point, Charles felt half-melted into the mattress, his body tingling and his mouth aching to touch, to taste. If he stretched a little further, he could just about catch Erik's earlobe in his lips, tongue at the shell of his ear, just for the shudder that tore down Erik's spine in response. 

"Impatient," Erik muttered, but his breath was ragged and Charles had half a moment to congratulate himself on his achievement before Erik's lips reached the blue-veined inside of Charles's wrist and set to sucking. 

"Oh, shit, Erik --" His fingers twined themselves into Erik's hair, tugging; but Erik liked that, had always liked that, and he moaned against Charles's wrist, rolled his hips restlessly. His nipples were taut peaks against Charles's chest, dragging against Charles's skin when he moved, and when Charles pulled harder, pulling him in, Erik went with it, let Charles drag him into a kiss. 

It was messier this time, more desperate, Charles's hands fisted in Erik's hair and Erik's tongue fucking helplessly into Charles's mouth. Erik's hands were never still, palming Charles's shoulders, his waist, sliding back up to thumb at Charles's nipples. Like this, his mind was blown open, a rush of colour and want, _godyeswantthiswantyouloveyoupleaseletmeIwant --_ and Charles let himself spiral into bliss on the joy of it, lost in that beloved continent. He moaned into Erik's mouth, and Erik answered it, nipping at Charles's lower lip before his mouth shifted to Charles's jaw, his ear, the soft place behind. 

"Charles --" Erik was humping him like a teenager, now, but Charles couldn't bring himself to mind, not when the drag of his cock felt so _good_ against Charles's abdomen, Erik's tongue tracing the helix of Charles's ear over and over until Charles arched up, pushed Erik's head down. 

Telepathy or not, Erik knew what that meant. As ever, he scrambled for it, pausing to suck a bruise into Charles's throat (which he did out of spite, Charles was sure) before he let himself be guided to Charles's chest where his nipples ached for attention. Charles was close, so close; Erik had always been able to play him like a finely-tuned instrument, his whole body flushed and tingling like his skin was too tight, and when Erik's mouth closed around his nipple, Charles surged up into it, head falling back, mouth opening soundlessly.

He'd tried, once, to explain to Erik how it felt to come like this, the slow blissful wave of it that moved through him everywhere, caught up every muscle and left him wrecked and lax on the bed. The way it felt when women came, Charles knew from experience. The first time he'd let Erik into his head at this moment, Erik had cried out and come on the spot, and Charles didn't want that, not now. But he let him have a little, just an edge, of what was pulsing through Charles's body as Erik sucked and bit at his nipple, and Erik groaned his appreciation, hands kneading Charles's waist until the tremors passed and Charles was boneless and gasping beneath him. 

Erik gave him a moment, face pressed to Charles's chest until he'd calmed a little. "Good?" he prompted, eventually, and Charles snorted. 

"Now, Erik, you know how I hate fishing." He tugged again at Erik's hair. "Come up here." 

For a moment, Erik looked confused, but then as he caught drift of the image Charles was projecting his way, his eyes widened, fingers curling involuntarily. " _Yes_." 

It had taken Charles a while to convince Erik that this was okay, that he could take it, that it wasn't going to hurt him. That he _loved_ it, moreover; thought about it at night in his bed after a long day, letting the image work its magic. By this point, though, Erik was fully on board. He was careful as he shifted up Charles's body on his knees, letting Charles position him the way he wanted him, arms hooked under and around Erik's thighs. Charles took a moment to telegraph the view to Erik, and Erik bit his lip on a grin, took hold of his cock and tapped its slick tip firmly against Charles's cheek. A string of precome trailed between the two for a moment, and Charles closed his eyes, shivered. 

"Please," he murmured. _You know how much I love your cock, Erik. Fuck my mouth_. 

" _Gott_ \--" Erik's dick jerked, fingers spasming against the nape of Charles's neck where he'd settled them gently, and Charles took a moment to breathe him in before he curled his tongue around the head, precome salt-sour on his tongue. Erik inhaled sharply through his nose, every muscle in his body coiled with the effort of holding himself back, and Charles nudged him firmly, _It's all right. Please._

That was enough. Erik was close, had been close for so long, his cock so full it must be painful, and when he sheathed himself in Charles's mouth they both groaned. Charles could taste him, his slick against the inside of his cheek and just the warm Erik-taste of his skin, and he let himself sink into the stretch of it as he sucked, the gorgeous deep ache in his jaw. 

Erik pulled back, slowly, thrust back in, setting up a rhythm. Charles could feel in Erik's mind how erratic it was, how difficult not just to drive in and spend himself before Charles had gotten his fill, and Charles almost smiled at that, so _considerate_ , Erik, really. He let himself palm the muscle of Erik's ass, squeezing; Erik shivered and jerked in his mouth, thrusting faster, and when Charles let his fingers dip into the cleft, rub over the clenched muscle of Erik's hole, Erik cried out, convulsing above him. 

"Charles --!" Erik's fist slammed into the wall above Charles's head in a typically Erik gesture, but Charles was entirely more concerned with the come in his mouth, spilling over his tongue, Erik still fucking himself helplessly through the mess of it as Charles swallowed, taking Erik inside him, as much of him as he could get. _Always_. 

Afterwards, Erik curled himself onto Charles's chest, one leg thrown across Charles's, his head tucked beneath Charles's chin. Charles had always found it charming, the way Erik let himself be cuddled like this, almost little-boyish in the way he sighed and dozed while Charles stroked his hair. His thoughts were a blur of contentment, about how much he loved this, loved Charles; how he wanted to be with him like this always, maybe their differences weren't important after all, not if he could have this. 

Charles knew Erik too well to be taken in by his post-coital monologue, but it was still nice to listen in on that sort of adoration, that much love. One of these days, Erik _would_ come back with him, of that he was sure. Erik would lay down his weapons and his helmet and Magneto would be gone, only Erik left, asleep like this in Charles's arms. One of these days. But not today. 

For now, though, they had a big bed, most of an afternoon and the whole of a night to enjoy it in. Today might not be _that_ day, but all told, it definitely wasn't a _bad_ day. 

As ever, Charles was grateful that Erik had worn the damn hat.


End file.
